


any other word for leaving

by jetame



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Kinda incest?, Sansa Centric, more like semi dreaming of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 19:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11630418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetame/pseuds/jetame
Summary: sansa's grown used to being left, not so much the leaving





	any other word for leaving

"When Starks go south, they don't come back." 

"Aye, but here you stand." She doesn't look at Brienne, preferring to instead keep her cold gaze on Jon's. Seconds felt as though they were hours with his eyes staring back at her. 

"I came back a Stone, to become a Bolton. I'd hardly say I'm a true Stark."

"I wouldn't say he is either." It's then he gives a final, sad wave and kicks his horse, hard. As the gates swing closed, she feels that resentment growing again. For Jon, for Arya, for Robb, for her mother, even her father. For leaving her behind, for falling victim to chance and honor and stupidity and letting her harden in their wakes. Each departure was like a blow to the chest, and though they all ached, Robb's had crushed her. She had lost Robb to a peasant girl's maidenhead when he was supposed to save her, to ride in on his horse and run through the Red Keep and save her from Kingsguard's fists and Joffrey's orders.  Jon's felt painfully like that. After all she had seen, all the scars and bruises and tears, she was being left again, by the only person she was sure she could keep.

"If you'll excuse me." She turns on her heels now, not wanting such a strong woman like Brienne see the weary sadness etch itself into her face. She hadn't cried in so long, she had been so strong, even kneeling with her forehead against her father's beloved weirwood, she had held herself together, but now, as she made her way to the outer walls, she could feel the memories seeping in. Standing between the two stone carvings as she had with Jon only a moon before, the feeling of it all was creeping through her chest, clenching her throat. She remembered leaping from these walls with Theon, to what she thought would surely be the sweet release of death. Even then, she had hoped she'd see Robb and Arya and Bran and her parents at the bottom of this wall, but instead she only saw her hands turning brittle in the cold and Theon running ahead of her into the forest. 

If that had broken her faith, the site of Jon, riding off through the empty whiteness, had crushed it. She had told him, in this very spot, that he was Stark. The feeling of his lips against her forehead had been warm and sweet and comforting, the closest to a real kiss she had ever felt in her 18 namedays. And it pained her to think now, but she imagined those lips against her own, devouring her whole, giving her the one thing she had never been able to have.

 

 


End file.
